


Crash Course in Everything and Nothing

by getluckywithbucky



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Biker Dean, Drabble Collection, F/M, Humor, Librarian Castiel, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 12:23:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getluckywithbucky/pseuds/getluckywithbucky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of prompt-based drabbles mostly of the Dean/Castiel variety, most of which are AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Good While It Lasted

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the anonymous prompt: "Don't you try and tell me that you never loved me, ' cause I know that you did." Crossposted to tumblr.

“Where are you going?” Dean hates the sharp and demanding edge to his voice, the suspicion and fear that simmers just beneath his skin.

Cas is half-way to the door, pants pulled up but undone and his long, graceful fingers - fingers that, less than an hour ago, were mapping every inch of Dean’s body with slow and deliberate strokes - working slowly to do up the buttons of the white button down he’d been wearing. He turns his head, blue eyes locked on Dean for a long, silent moment, the only sounds the rushing of blood in Dean’s ears and the rustling of fabric as Castiel continues to push each button into place. “We’re done, aren’t we? We both achieved what we wanted; there’s no need for me to stay.”

Dean shifts, sitting up more fully on the bed. The sheets are cool against his thighs as he moves, and he fists his hands in them. If he could just get Cas to come back to bed, just get the other man beneath the sheets, then maybe he can pretend that everything is okay. “Cas, come on-“

“No. _This_ ,” Castiel turns and gestures between himself and Dean, still nude in the bed, “should never have happened. This  _thing_  between has been over for a very long time.”

And he’s not wrong, Dean knows that. He knows that it was largely his fault that things ended badly, his fault that Castiel hadn’t seen enough in him to stay. They fall silent again, and Dean listens as the air conditioner kicks in, watches as Cas sits at Dean’s desk in the corner and pulls his battered Converse on without even bothering to put on his socks. He just balls them up, shoves them in his satchel.

“It was good while it lasted though, wasn’t it? Us?” Dean’s voice is small, smaller than he thinks it’s ever been, as though if he puts any force behind his words the moment will shatter and Cas will have never even dropped by at all.

Cas snorts, shoving the books he had come for into the bag next to his socks, “There was never an ‘us,’ Dean. There was you, and there was me, and there was a great deal of very creative sex. Nothing more.”

This isn’t what Dean thought the other man would say. It’s not even close. They had been close,  _intimate_ , something Dean Winchester  _never_  did, never wanted, not until Castiel had sat next to him in the dining hall and point-blank told him that he wanted to take him to dinner. They had spent months together, and it hadn’t just been about sex, not to Dean. Hell, Dean had fallen in love with Castiel, still loves him, if he’s being completely honest, and hearing him speak so casually tears something in him. He shoves his way out of the bed, unconcerned with his complete nudity, and storms to where Cas is beginning to stand, his eyes focused on his bag.

He grabs at Castiel, feels the strength in the arms that only a short while ago held him down, gripped him as though he never wanted to let go, “I loved you, Cas, you know that.”

“That was your biggest mistake.” It’s Cas’s turn to sound subdued, but there’s an edge of firmness to his deep voice, and Dean feels his heart breaking all over again.

“Don’t you try and tell me that you never loved me,” Deans whispers, stepping closer to Castiel and feeling the way the other man’s breath hitches, “‘cause I know that you did.”

There’s a moment where Dean thinks that maybe Cas is going to kiss him, that everything is going to be okay.

But it’s only a moment, and before he can even really let his thoughts go down that path, the man he’d given his heart to is shrugging out of his grip and stepping away, turning his back - again - and walking to the door, “No, Dean. I didn’t.”

Castiel opens the door and steps out into the hall, the soft  _click_  of the latch catching as he disappears from sight, from Dean’s life. Dean forgets to breath, forgets to think, and all he call feel, after the tight clenching pain in his chest has passed, is absolutely nothing.


	2. Cygnus and Aquarius on Tanned Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas is good friends with Sam, but he's never met Dean. He's a bit disappointed when he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the anonymous prompt: "Dean's the dickish and really hot older brother of Cas' best friend." Crossposted to tumblr.

The first time Sam had invited Castiel over for drinks after work, he had misinterpreted what the younger man had meant and assumed it was a “date” thing. Sam had been quick to set Cas straight on the subject, especially after Cas had asked, at the end of the night, if Sam would be offended if Cas just didn’t think of him romantically. They had fallen into a steady friendship after that, and Cas had to admit it was nice to have a friend at work who wanted to spend time with him off the clock.

In the years they’ve known each other since, Cas has been regaled with tale after tale of Sam’s brother. From the man’s description, Dean is both father and brother, understated in his intelligence, and practically a saint. From these words alone, Cas is ashamed to admit that he’s at least half-way in love with the man, despite having never met him.

When they do finally meet, Cas finds that Sam is extremely biased in his perceptions. Sam’s wife Jessica, who Castiel had spent very little time with over the years, had recently announced that she was pregnant. Sam hadn’t hesitated to call and tell Cas to come over to help him celebrate, but he had failed to mention that his brother, the ever elusive Dean Winchester, was on his way into town, too.

When Cas arrives at Sam’s house - a yellow, single-story 3 bedroom house securely in the suburbs - he is greeted at the door by one of the most attractive people he’s ever encountered, and he can’t help but go completely speechless and maybe just a little bit weak in the knees. Suddenly, he feels uncomfortable in his red and black polo and well-fitted khakis in the wake of the green-eyed man before him - only a few inches taller than himself - who is dressed so effortlessly in faded blue jeans and a care-worn Led Zeppelin shirt under a dark green flannel overshirt. The dusting of freckles on the man’s face are distracting, and Cas thinks he could make constellations out of them - connect Cassiopeia and Andromeda and draw the lines of Cygnus and Aquarius on the tanned skin. And those lips…

“Who the hell are you?”

… are attached to an asshole. Cas swallows around his disappointment and locks eyes with the man before him and does his best to shove down on the attraction he can feel bubbling up after hearing  _that voice_ , “I’m a friend of Sam’s.”

“Yeah? Well, we’re having a family thing, so you might want to get outta here.” The man says, and Cas is sure that  _this_  jerk is Dean.

Castiel scowls at him, “I was invited.”

Dean rolls his eyes, “Sure you were. I don’t know you, man.”

“You can’t be expected to know all of your brother’s friends.” Cas says through clenched teeth. Dean may be gorgeous, and yeah, he may have raised Sam and put him through law school, but he wasn’t winning any points.

Dean looks mildly surprised that Cas knows who he is, and that’s the only opening he needs to slip in through the door. “Hey! What the hell, man?!”

Dean, Castiel muses, may be handsome, and he may be all the wonderful things that Sam said he is, but first impressions can be lasting, and all Cas has seen, so far, of Dean Winchester is a great big bag of dicks.


	3. Books and Boredom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is bored. Cas is reading. There's snuggling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the anonymous prompt: "What ya' reading Cas?"

Dean, despite all his best efforts, is bored. He had spent the entire day cleaning the apartment he shares with his brother and best friend and relishing in the shocked looks he’d received from both when they each got home from their respective classes.

When the shock had worn off, Sam had retreated to his room with a bottle of water and his textbooks, but Cas had settled on the couch next to him, almost leaning too much into his personal space. It didn’t bother Dean, even if he protested and complained about it more often than not. Cas, he knew, recognized that fact and continued to ignore Dean’s loud complaints. Dean was secretly glad about this.

The close proximity of his roommate is only enough to keep him entertained for a few moments before he’s bored again and heading towards restless. Luckily, he has Cas to entertain him.

Cas, however, is having none of Dean’s shit. He’s absorbed in his book, the spine of which rests on his knee. The darker haired man sits cross-legged, and his upper body, leaning against Dean’s, pins his arm in place. Dean watches him for a moment before bumping his side against Castiel’s. Cas barely reacts.

“Cas.” Dean says, moving against Castiel again. There’s no response. He’s silent for a moment, “Hey, Cas.”

He sees Cas glance at him quickly before his eyes fall back to the book, sees the little quirk to his lips. “Caaaas,” Dean says again, elongating the syllable and tapping with his free hand at his friend’s shoulder.

Finally, Cas let’s out a put-upon sigh and turns to face Dean, “What is it, Winchester?”

“Whatcha reading?” Dean says around a grin as Cas rolls his eyes and lifts the book for him to see the cover. “Ugh, nevermind. You can keep that.”

Castiel chuckles, leans in a bit closer, and goes back to reading his terrifyingly dry textbook.


	4. Zachariah Gets Punched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After punching his boss in the face for being a dick and getting a write-up, university librarian Cas decides he needs to do some heavy drinking. He ends up strolling into a bar full of the "rougher" crowd on accident but doesn't particularly care where he drinks, so long as he gets his alcohol. Dean keeps him company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From viridieanfey's prompt: "Castiel just got off his job as a librarian and is feeling angry and belligerent after a day of dealing with his boss Zachariah. He unknowingly walks into a biker bar, one of those bikers is Dean Winchester. (Points for Castiel still being a badass in spite of the librarian sweater vest and impressing Dean by his lack of fear/stupidity.)" Crossposted to tumblr.

Castiel loves his job, really he does. He loves the smell of books, loves the order of the Library of Congress system, and loves interacting with the students and faculty who come into the library looking for books or just for a quiet place to study and escape. He loves the way the stacks look late at night after everyone else has gone home and he’s left to shut down the computers and lock up the doors.

What he doesn’t love is his boss. Zachariah Adler is a tool, and Cas doesn’t know exactly why the man even works in a library. He’s not here because he loves it, that’s for sure. All he does is belittle the librarians and their work, and doesn’t seem to understand that “librarian” is not code for “push-over.”

Which is probably why Castiel has a nice, pink write-up slip in his file now.

Castiel and his coworker, Charlie, had been discussing a recent release in a fantasy series they both enjoyed when Zachariah had approached. Cas had hoped he’d walk on by without a word, but luck wasn’t on his side and the man stopped a few feet away, smug little smirk firmly fixed on his face. “My, my. Is there a convention in town? Are the two of you going to dress up like knights and play pretend?”

Zachariah said more, insulted Charlie and Castiel in the most basic of ways, and it was enough to have them both riled up and furious. Charlie had opened her mouth to say something scathing, something properly indignant.

Castiel… well, Castiel might have beaten her to the punch. Both figuratively and literally.

So the shiny pink write up came hand in hand with being sent home early, and for the first time since college (a good ten years and a lot of therapy earlier) Cas really, really could use a drink or six.

It’s barely past 8 pm when he shoves out of the doors of the library, less than halfway through his shift, and as he stomps to his bicycle on the rack he can’t help but fume. It’s completely unfair that Zachariah can get away with the shit he says to them, but when he stands up against him, Castiel is punished. It’s how it always is, and though he would never quit his job, he fantasizes for a moment about a library free from the flying dick he’d worked with for years, possibly because he’d suddenly retired and realized that Cas was who they library truly needed.

It’s a nice thought, but completely impossible. With a sigh, he climbs onto his bicycle and pedals in the direction of the street of bars. Most, he knows, are frequented by college students and faculty and the familiarity will help him down his troubles and frustrations in several tequila shots.

He’s so lost in his thoughts that when he does reach the bars, he makes the mistake of going into Harvelle’s.

Now, there’s nothing wrong, exactly, with Harvelle’s. It’s clean, considering who its main patrons are, and they’ve got the good stuff behind the counter. There’s no pretenses, but there’s a lot of macho posturing and hiding behind great bushy beards.

Castiel doesn’t know any of this when he pushes through the door and heads to the counter. He doesn’t notice the looks he gets from the rough customers clustered around pool tables and sitting on barstools. He barely notices that his bright yellow sweater vest, pastel pink button down shirt, and pressed gray slacks stick out in the sea of leather, spikes, and denim, and he definitely doesn’t notice the amused gaze of the man seated next to where he’s standing at the bar.

It’s Ellen Harvelle herself who comes to take his drink order, a twinkle of mirth in her eyes as she takes in Cas’s appearance and winks at the seated man who just snickers and watches the show. “What can I get for ya?”

“Double of Johnnie Walker Blue, please.” Cas replies after glancing over the whiskey along the top shelf, and he can’t help but be curious about the impressed look the bartender gives him over his choice before offering a grin and a nod and turning around to pour up the whiskey.

It’s the man next to him to who speaks, “I would’ve taken you for a frilly cocktail kind of guy.”

Castiel glances to him, his head tilted just slightly at the words. The man, he notices, is handsome, despite the roughness his stance and leather jacket suggest. He’s not attractive in the rugged way, but in the almost pretty way and Cas can’t seem to stop himself from saying, “And you seem to be the male model type.”

The man laughs, loud and he reaches out to pat Cas on the shoulder. Ellen puts the glass of Johnnie Walker on the counter and Cas, a little perturbed, passes over a crumbled wad of cash. Ellen rolls her eyes at them before she walks off again to shoot the shit with a customer further down the bar.

It’s at this point that Cas takes a good look around and realizes exactly what sort of establishment he’s walked into. He takes a sip of his whiskey, relishing the burn of it as it goes down, and shrugs. He’s already here; may as well enjoy his drink and the free eye candy next to him.

“Gotta hand it to you, man, you’ve got balls.” The man’s voice is rougher after his laughing fit, a lot like the hand he reaches out towards Cas a moment later looks, “I’m Dean.”

Cas only hesitates for a second before he grips the other man’s hand, the callouses rough beneath his own relatively smooth skin, “Castiel.”

Dean grins, “You got good taste in booze, Cas.”

“I’ve had a… trying day.” Cas confides, taking another sip. It’s not the type of whiskey you chug down, not when it’s top shelf and damn expensive. “It was either whiskey or tequila shots. The whiskey is at least a more dignified way of getting drunk.”

Dean takes a gulp of his beer, “I’ll drink to that, man.”

Two hours and a good deal of whiskey later, Castiel and Dean have somehow made their way over to one of the free pool tables, where Cas - decidedly drunk - is beating Dean’s ass at the game, sinking ball after ball without much effort.

Dean shoves at him, “How the fuck, Cas?”

Cas grins, all gums and teeth, and waves Dean closer. They end up in each others’ space, and Cas whispers in Dean’s ear, his lips brushing the skin and sending a shiver through Dean’s body, “I’m very good with handling balls.”

For what feels like the hundredth time, Dean lets out a laugh and goes to line up his shot, “I don’t fucking doubt it.”

Cas smirks and lines up his next shot and like those before it, sinks it with ease. It doesn’t take long for the game to end, Cas having soundly beat the tar out of the rough-and-tumble Dean Winchester, and Dean offers to buy him another round.

It doesn’t take much more whiskey before Cas is spilling the details of his write-up.

“An’ he said, he said we were fuckin’  _useless_ , and called Charlie a  _dyke_  and something rude about my pink shirt - Dean, I like my pink shirt -” Cas says, and Dean wraps an arm around his should and says something about it being manly as fuck (to which Castiel visibly preens), “an’ I punched th-the assbutt in his smug fucking face.”

“You little badass,” Dean praises, leaning even closer.

Cas grins drunkenly, and presses forward, lips hitting Dean’s clumsily, “I like you. You think I’m a bad-ass.”

“Shoe fits, man,” Dean returns the kiss, a bit more successfully than Cas’s initial attempts (but only marginally so), and he pulls Cas unsteadily to his feet and drags him through the thinning crowd towards a door by the bar. “You can crash at my place, got a nice set up upstairs.”

Cas nods against Dean’s neck, laughing a bit as he nips at the soft flesh and wraps one arm around the other man’s waist and grips his shoulder with the other. The angle is awkward as they try to navigate up the stairs behind the bar, and sometime between the first step and the second floor landing, Cas has Dean pressed against the wall, mouths pressed together and seeking the heat and wetness of the other, bodies flush against each other.

Between one breath and the next and between kisses and slow, pressing grinds, Cas decides that maybe that write up was worth it for getting him here, pressed against a man who could work some magic with his mouth.


	5. Ring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam had been calling for hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Older drabble, based on the prompt of Sastiel and ring.

Sam had been calling for hours.

By phone, mostly. Prayer had proven to be an absolute waste of time, but he was nothing if not persistent, and this was important, dammit. It wasn't the first time Castiel hadn't answered him, and he was sure it wasn't even going to be the last. He hated the fact that Dean always managed to get his attention, while Sam was stuck being the abomination, the one that Cas only tolerated.

The ringing of the phone only seemed to reiterate that point, every click to voicemail reminding him exactly how little his words meant to the angel. It was in this one thing that he hated Dean – his brother didn't seem to realise what had been handed to him. But Sam knew, and so he hung up the phone, pressed redial, and let it ring anew.


	6. Knitting is a Very Productive Hobby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas gets a hobby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Older drabble based on the prompt: "Team Free Will is laying low in a house for several months. Cas doesn’t sleep so he picks up hobbies to occupy his time as the boys sleep. :3 Only, you know, with a Destiel spin.”

It was way too fucking early to be awake. A quick glance at the clock proved this, the big red numbers proclaiming it to be just past three in the morning. He had fallen asleep only a few hours ago, relaxed and sated after a great deal of very athletic sex with a particular sleepless nerd angel, and had hoped, for once, to sleep through the night.

He would have thought that having to stay in one spot for almost three months would've made it easier to sleep, but it was honestly the exact opposite. The place was small; two bedrooms, not much of a living room, a kitchen about big enough for two people with some creative manoeuvring, and a bathroom with barely enough room for Dean, let alone Sam. And while it was only Dean and Sam that actually needed to sleep, it had been an unspoken decision that Castiel, grounded-and-on-the-run Angel of the Lord, would bunk with Dean.

More often than not, the hunter would wake in the middle of the night to Cas doing any number of things.

Tonight, he woke to a rhythmic clicking, like metal on metal. With a grown, he rolled over, letting his eyes fall on Cas, still naked from their earlier activities - Dean's favourite of Cas's new hobbies, if he's honest - and holding something in his hands. 

"Cas?"

Castiel looked up, locking bright eyes with his still-slightly asleep companion, "Yes, Dean?"

"What's that?" Dean gestured vaguely to the bundle in the angel's hands, and Castiel tilted his head, and held up the thing he was knitting.

When Dean nodded that yeah, he was talking about the yarn, Castiel let loose a rare little smile, nothing more than a quirk of the lips, "It's a sock for your penis. I measured it while you were sleeping."

"Oh. Uh. Thanks?"


End file.
